Here Be Dragons - 1 (81 page)

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wreaked havoc among the Bishop's early-blooming crocus plants Joanna was bundled up in a fur-lined mantle, but as Llewelyn reached her, she exclaimed, "Listen to that. A curlew, a sure harbinger of corning spring."
"My teeth are chattering too much to hear it. Are you not ready to come back to the Bishop's palace?"
"Well. . ." Joanna hesitated. "What I'd truly like to do now is to go into the church, to light a candle for my father." Although she knew she did not have to ask permission, her voice rose questioningly, nonetheless. Seventeen months after his death, John was still a sensitive subject between them.
"That's probably a good idea," Llewelyn said dryly, leaving unsaid the rest of his thought, that John's soul was in need of all the prayers he could get.
"Come on," he said, sliding his arm around Joanna's waist. "I'll walk over with you."
Joanna was very pleased. "Admit it," she teased, "it did bother you, all those months when you could not enter a church. It had to, for how could you be sure
God was on your side?"
"Just between you and me, breila, I've always suspected that the Almighty was
Welsh," Llewelyn said, and they both laughed. They were still laughing as they entered the north door of the church, moved into the nave. But their laughter stopped abruptly a moment later, for they were face to face with Joanna's
Uncle Will and his wife.
Joanna had known such a meeting was inevitable, but she'd been dreading it all the same. Her feelings for Will were hopelessly entangled. She could not reproach him for deserting her father, not when she felt herself to be guilty of the same sin. But she could not help remembering what Isabelle had told her, how devastated John had been by Will's betrayal, and that memory drained all warmth, all vivacity from her voice.
Her greeting was so lame, so unlike her that Will flushed. "I see, he said flatly. "So you, too, judge me."
"No," Joanna said, without much conviction.
"Isabelle and Richard blame me. But I expected you to be fairer than they, Joanna. After all, you made a choice, too, did you not? You disavowed John to please your husband, and if you ever cared about tn grief that gave John, he never knew it!"
The words were no sooner out of his mouth than Will would ha given anything to recall them. Joanna looked so stricken that he swept with remorse. No matter how raw his nerves had gotten, ^ was no excuse for taking out his pain upon the lass, and he started her so, to offer his apologies. 5.
But Llewelyn forestalled him, saying scathingly, "Joanna wa tranged from John over a matter of conscience. She could not stomach the murder of children. You, however, seem to have had no such qualms. For three full years after the Nottingham hangings, you continued to keep faith with
John, to benefit from his favor. You did not abandon him until he seemed sure to be beaten, until you thought Louis likely to"
"No!" Will had flushed even darker. "That's not so," he said in a choked voice. "It was not self-interest. It was because of what John did to my wife, to Ela. It was only then that she told me . . . told me that whilst I was a prisoner in France, John sought to seduce her."
It was suddenly very quiet in the church. Llewelyn and Joanna both appeared dumbfounded. Will swallowed. "I'm sorry, Joanna," he said miserably. "I did not mean to tell you that..."
Joanna was staring, not at him, but at Ela. For a long moment their eyes held, and then she said, "It's all right, Uncle Will. I know you did what you thought you had to do."
There was an awkward pause, and then Ela stepped forward, kissed Joanna on the cheek. Will wanted to do likewise, but felt too discomfited. He patted his niece on the shoulder, then made haste to lead his wife from the nave.

Joanna moved on into the choir, toward her father's tomb. Llewelyn followed more slowly. The irony did not escape him that he of all men should find himself cast as John's defender, but he did not have to strive for conviction;
for once, he thought John truly deserved the benefit of the doubt. "Breila, I
do not believe Will. I'm sure your Aunt Ela is a good, pious woman, but I
cannot see her as a siren. John was no fool, would not risk so much for so little. From what you've told me, his women were invariably young and fair to look upon, and Will's Ela is no Eve."
"You need not seek to persuade me, Llewelyn. I know it's not true. I saw it on
Ela's face." Joanna's smile was sad, tremulous, but still a smile °f sorts.
"You're right; Ela is no Eve. But she is the mother of eight children. If she could salvage her family's future with a lie, I daresay she thought that a small price to pay. And how can I blame her? For loving her children? If my father had not earned himself such a vile reputation, men would not have been so quick to suspect the worst of him, and Will c°uld never have convinced himself that Ela spoke true. What you said />out Will was right; he is a weak man. But he's a decent man, too, and e deserves some peace of mind."
She reached up, kissed him softly on the mouth. "Thank you for jPeaking up for me, beloved. Now I want to light a candle for my father. y°u do not mind, I'd rather do it alone."
Llewelyn watched as she turned away. If you can forgive Will,

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breila, why can you not forgive yourself? But the question was a silent one.
They could not talk about John; that was a terrain too fraught with pitfalls and remembered pain. It troubled him, though, that Joanna seemed unable to talk about her father with anyone at all, even Catrin or Richard. At first he'd thought she only needed time to be able to come to terms with John's death. But he was beginning to realize that her grieving was interwoven with guiltguilt she would not even acknowledgethat the normal healing process was ineffectual. Her grief was still raw, and he did not know how to help her.
He glanced down at John's coffin, and his mouth twisted in a bitter smile.
John had been no easy foe to defeat, and as a ghost he was even more formidable, defying all attempts at exorcism. In death he was causing as much pain and turmoil as ever he had in his accursed lifetime. Joanna was not his only victim. Gruffydd, too, was one, Gruffydd who could not outrun his memories of English prisons.
THE talk in Worcester was all of the coming crusade to capture the Egyptian city of Damietta. Both in England and in France, an impressive roster of wellborn barons had taken the cross, among them Robert Fitz Walter, Saer de
Quincy and his eldest son, John's illegitimate son Oliver Fitz Royeven Hugh de
Lusignan. But the plans of one crusader in particular interested Llewelyn, and he deliberately set about encountering the Earl of Chester alone on the east walkway of the priory cloisters.
They greeted each other with the wary regard that men reserve for adversaries worthy of respect. Llewelyn at once came to the point. "I hear you mean to join the crusade. Is that true?"
Chester nodded. "I took the cross with King John, received a dispensation until the French were defeated. Now that the realm is at peace, I can fulfill my vow."
"Tell me," Llewelyn said with a faint smile, "have you no qualms about leaving your holdings in Cheshire? With you in the Holy Land, men might see your manors and estates as fruit ripe for the picking.'
Chester thought Llewelyn's jest a rather dubious one, but he made a polite attempt to reply in kind, saying wryly, "It is good of you to be so concerned on my behalf. Of course, if you truly want to ease my mind/ you can always offer a truce for the length of my absence."
As he expected, Llewelyn laughed and shook his head. But then^ said, "Actually, what I had in mind was not a truce, but an alliance.
Chester stopped dead in the walkway. "Are you serious?"
"Very// have
"We've been enemies for most of our lives. Yet now, when y°u n

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Qpportumty to raid into Cheshire with impunity, you are offering to make peace? Why?"
"I'll not deny that your absence would enable me to seize an advantage But lf would be short-lived You're right, we have been enemies, but by geography, not by choice We each wield a great deal of power If we joined together, how much greater that power might be, great enough to protect our common interests, to give us a formidable say in the King's council "
"Yes," Chester said slowly, "it would indeed "
Although he was sure he already knew the answer, Llewelyn took care to observe the formalities, asking, "Well7 What do you think7"
"I think," Chester said, "that we ought to talk "
GRUFFYDD was utterly wretched at Worcester The suffocating sensations of confinement had come back to haunt his sleep He awoke in an English bed, craving Senena's warmth, dreading the daylight hours when he must mingle with men he despised, speak their alien tongue, watch as his father humbled himself before John's son
As he crossed from sun into shadow, he paused, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the loss of light He was not sure what drew him so often to the priory church, but on three different occasions he'd found himself standing before the High Altar, before the tomb of the English King It gave him a curious kind of comfort to touch the cold marble of John's coffin Once he'd even spat onto it, knowing the gesture was childish and not caring in the least
But as he moved now into the choir, he came to an abrupt halt, for he was not alone Two young boys were standing by John's coffin, a lone wall sconce spilling light onto their bowed heads, one bright as flame, the other black as jet His brother Davydd and the boy King
Having offered a prayer, Henry carefully crossed himself, then reached out, ran his hand over the smooth surface of the tomb Davydd, to°, started to touch the coffin, but so tentatively that Henry said encouragingly, "Go ahead Papa would not mind You're his grandson, you have the right "
At that, Davydd drew back My grandfather, he thought, and it did "ot seem real to him, not at all "Do you miss him7" he asked, and Hei*y nodded
I did not see him all that often, but I always knew I would sooner ater Now, when I think that I'll never, never get to see him again, Betimes it it scares me "
Uavydd gave Henry a look of sharp pity "You must miss your er/ too Why did she go7" He did not mean to be rude, but he

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found Isabella's mysterious departure very disturbing; it made him wonder if his own mother might not one day go back to England, leave him as Isabelle had left Henry.
"I do not know," Henry admitted. "She" His head came up "Davydd," he whispered, "someone is watching us. Over there, see?"
Davydd peered into the shadows. "It's my brother," he said, but the sudden tautness in his voice and stance communicated to Henry an inexplicable sense of unease.
"Let's go," he urged, tugging at Davydd's sleeve.
Davydd wanted to go, too, but he did not want Gruffydd to think he was running away. He circled around to the far side of the coffin. "Do you like your brothers, Henry?"
Henry smiled at the silliness of the question. "Of course I do. I like Richard and Oliver best, and I love my little brother Dickon; he's nine, like you."
"We Welsh have a saying about brothers," Davydd said, so loudly that Henry flinched. "Gwell ceiniog na brawd."
"What does that mean?"
"Better a penny than a brother."
"I do not understand."
"Gruffydd does."
"Not so loud," Henry cautioned, "lest he hear you. I do not like being watched. Think you that we can slip out without him seeing us?"
"No," Davydd said, but then he sighed. "It's all right. He's gone."
One of the monks was moving sedately up the cloister walkway, toward the south door of the church. He stumbled backward as Gruffydd burst through the doorway, his box of candles spilling onto the cloister tiles. Gruffydd did not offer assistance; he'd not even noticed the man. He continued rapidly up the walkway, not pausing until he neared the Chapter House. At this time of day it would be empty/ would be a good place to be alone. He was reaching for the latch as the door swung open and his father and the Earl of Chester emerged onto the walkway.
Llewelyn had often deplored his eldest son's sense of timing, but never more than now. "Were you looking for me, Gruffydd?"
Gruffydd shook his head. They'd been laughing together; he even thought he'd heard his father call Chester by his Christian name, call him Ranulf as if he were a friend, a comrade-in-arms.
"You know my son, of course, Ranulf," Llewelyn said, an Gruffydd stiffened. Ranulf. So he'd not imagined it. Ranulf.
"Indeed. I was present at Dover Castle the day he defied King J° I've never forgotten it, for that was one of the most courageous a
I've ever seen." In Chester's considered opinion, it was also one is a* of*6

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jjiost foolhardy, and he might have said that to Llewelyn But h (-jj-uffyddhe knew instinctively that this was one young man ^t. never learned to laugh at himself \ .
"You might as well be the first to know," he said, and smiled . lord father and I have pledged to forget past differences, to act as \t from this day forth " He heard Llewelyn's indrawn breath, and krv 'ples, his anger had turned inward, and he felt suddenly sick
'ost track of time when the creaking of the door jolted him upright,

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he'd hoped Chester would have the common sense to leave him al0n The door opened wider. Not Chester. Morgan.
Llewelyn's mouth twitched, in what was almost a smile. "You i ways know when
I have need of you. What have yousecond sight?-, Morgan shook his head. "Gruffydd has gone."
Llewelyn closed his eyes again, then felt the priest's hand on h' shoulder.
"What can I do, Morgan? He's my son. Christ Jesus, but \vhat can I do?"
5
DOLWYDDELAN, NORTH WALES
April 1220
JOANNA was accustomed to having her bedchamber appropriated whenever her husband required a particularly private meeting place. She was not accustomed, however, to being present at such times, and was attracting more than her share of curious, covert looks. When Ednyved sauntered over to her window seat, she murmured, "If I tell them I'm here at Llewelyn's bidding, will they stop staring at me as if I'm a Norman spy in their midst?"
"Even after fourteen years in Wales, do you still know so little of our ways?
They've never thought of you as a Norman spybut rather as an English one."
Joanna bit her lip, but once more he'd won; she was unable to suppress a smile. She gestured for him to join her in the window seat, ma velingnot for the first timehow unlikely and yet how dear a "ien this man had become. Not that he'd changed any; he still had a stia tongue, a sardonic eye, and spared none the cutting edge of his h11"1. But now she caught the glint of amusement behind the heavy ' ' caught the echoes of affection. Now she knew that
Ednyved vva* .^ ally, that he alone of her husband's friends did not want to see Gm -
as Prince of North Wales.
"Did Llewelyn tell you why he wants us all here like this.
"You know Llewelyn better than that, Ednyved. When he's truly troubled, he keeps his own counsel." And Llewelyn was troubled, that loanna knew. So did
Ednyved. They shared that awareness with no need of words, then glanced expectantly toward the door.
But it was not Llewelyn. At sight of her son, Joanna half rose. "Davydd, you'd best come back later, after your father's council is done."
"But Papa told me to come, Mama. He said I ought to be here." Davydd glanced uncertainly about the chamber. He knew all in the room very well, but he was somewhat self-conscious nonetheless, and was grateful when his mother slid over, made room for him beside her in the window seat. As flattered as he was to be here, he was nervous, too, as nervous as the first time Llewelyn had taken him hunting. Gruffydd had spoiled that memory for him; Davydd still flushed sometimes, remembering Gruffydd's scorn when he missed his target, shot his arrow a full foot over the roebuck's withers. But Gruffydd was not here now to mar his pleasure in this, his first inclusion into the world of politics and statecraft, into the world of men.
"What does Papa want to tell us?" he whispered, and Joanna shook her head.
"I would that I knew!"
Llewelyn entered as she was speaking. He stood for an unusually lengthy time in the doorway, as if reluctant to enter, and once he was in the room, he seemed in no hurry to begin. He crossed to the table and picked up a wine cup, only to set it down untasted. The people in this chamber were those closest to him, those who'd celebrated his triumphs and endured his defeats, those who had the right to know what he meant to do. His eyes moved slowly from face to face. His brother Adda. Rhys. Morgan. Ednyved. Joanna. He could only hope they'd try to understand . . . and try to forgive.
His gaze lingered the longest upon his son. Davydd was now in his twelfth year, poised for entry into the uncharted terrain that lay between boyhood and manhood. A child and yet not a child, this youngest s°n of his. When he